And I Would Drive Five Hundred Miles
by QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Sirius and James have the best plan in the world: to travel to the Qudditch World Cup on Sirius' bike. What could possibly go wrong? [Sirius Black & James Potter, background Wolfstar. Written for IWSC S2 R2]


**School: Hogwarts Year 2  
Theme: Department of Magical Transportation  
Prompts: [pairing of any kind] James Potter & Sirius Black (main); [event] The Quidditch World Cup; [emotion] Excitement  
WC: 1283**

"Are we lost?"

The silence that greeted his question was a pointed one—the kind of silence that said your words had been heard but were being ignored, for everyone's sake. James Potter had been accused of many things in his life, some of them warranted and others blatant lies, but being able to read between the lines was not one of them. He'd walked in on Sirius and Remus kissing twice before starting to put together the pieces that they may be more than friends, and that had been a confusing two weeks for everyone involved.

So he tried to ask again.

"Sirius, are we—"

The truck lurched to a screeching stop, the rest of James' question cut off in a yelp. He groaned, rubbing at his shoulder where the seat belt had bit into exposed skin.

"We're not lost. It's a straight line from the town to the grounds," Sirius said as patiently as he could, but his fingers flexed on the wheel, a warning sign James knew well from their time in Hogwarts. It had taken him a while but he'd learnt that simple motion heralded a masterfully planned out prank, culminating in Sirius' teeth being bared in a feral grin as he surveyed the disaster he wrought.

Stuck in a truck in a jungle, in a foregin country was not a circumstance where James wanted to upset Sirius. He didn't want to upset Sirius at all, but now seemed like an especially bad time.

"It was a stroke of luck breaking down when we did," James said finally, Sirius let out a bark of laughter in agreement.

The truck rumbled back to life, lurching slightly as Sirius screwed up his face in concentration, the muscles in his thigh flexing as he manipulated the pedals. The specifics of driving were lost on James so he settled back to wait, tipping his head back to rest against the back of the seat.

Excitement crackled through James' veins like lightning, reigniting as the golden edging of their prized Quidditch World Cup tickets caught the setting sun. It had been worth the sleepless night spent sitting on his bed, Sirius across from him, blankets around their shoulders. Their hands had cramped as they hovered over the forms, waiting desperately for the tickets to be available. But it had paid off in the end, resulting in two beautiful tickets to the World Cup, which was being held in India for its 420th run.

The setting sun bled oranges and reds across the distant viewable patch of sky, framed by twisted branches reaching endlessly upwards. Everything looked the same this deep into the jungle: a tangle of vines here, the twisted trunk of a tree there, the ever present rumble of the engine and the whine of mosquitos coupled with the paranoia that someone was watching them, lingering just out of sight. James pulled nervous fingers through his hair, messing it up even more than the hours of travel on the back of Sirius' bike had.

"I'll have to try and fix my bike when we get to the campsite," Sirius said, as if reading James' mind.

James could see the nervous glances he cast in the rearview mirror. There was nobody behind them, the roads deserted this far away from the beaten path, and even if there was, they wouldn't be able to see them. Sirius' bike was carefully strapped into the bed of the truck—previously spotless metal covered in dust, streaked with the ghosts of past rainstorms. The troublesome and broken part—the part that had sent them on the quest to rent the truck—lay wrapped in an old t shirt of Sirius' on the back seat. The shirt was already covered in oil so ir was the correct choice to sacrifice it.

It had seemed a strange choice when James first told his parents of their plans to travel to the Quidditch World Cup on Sirius' bike, rather than the more traditional Wizarding options. They ran through all of their options multiple times, coming up with options only to shoot them down in preparation for the argument James knew was coming. The Knight Bus would be crowded, every inch of visible floor space—and some wall and ceiling space as well—would be rammed with travellers trying to access the Floo Network in quieter areas of the country or through richer relatives' houses. The Floo Network would get them part of the way, but why subject themselves to all that hassle? With as many people—both from the UK and other countries—all aiming for the same fireplaces, the inherent risk was heightened despite what the Ministry issued pamphlets said. Portkeys had been the obvious choice, and the one Euphemia Potter had argued most strongly for.

Lily, Remus and Peter both knew them too well to argue against whatever harebrained scheme James and Sirius had come up with, and were quietly studying a map laid over the kitchen table while Euphemia held forth. It was their first summer after finishing Hogwarts, and while dark times were ahead, no-one was willing to stop the others from reaching for any scraps of joy.

Eventually, after three arguments, two presentations and a broken window when Sirius had ducked rather than let the shoe Lily threw at him hit him in the face, the plan was settled. They would use a portkey to the house of a cousin of Fleamont's—Fleamont still held strong ties to his extended family despite not being able to visit them for several years, but James only vaguely remembered the cousin in question—and then they would travel on Sirius's bike and arrive safely at the grounds three days before the Cup was due to start.

It was a solid plan, checked by Remus and Lily with Peter's worried eyes darting over the pieces of parchment, squeaking out potential dangers like a doomsday prophet. They'd set off with strict instructions to send a Patronus back to the Potters every evening, and at every checkpoint.

Remus had a favourite saying. It was from some Muggle author James could never remember the name of, some book about mice, or was it rabbits? Remus would throw it out like an anchor when a prank backfired, words intended to comfort from a man long dead.

"Best laid plans."

"What?"

"What?"

James stared at Sirius. Sirius stared at James.

"You just said Remus' favourite quote," Sirius said slowly, dragging each word out to twice it's normal length in his confusion.

"Yeah, it seems fitting in this situation doesn't it? He may have a point."

Sirius laughed, his characteristic bark like laugh bouncing off the heavy foliage, the sound dying as soon as it left the truck.

"Please don't tell him that. I love him, but the smugness from finding out he was right all this time would be insufferable," Sirius said, gaze going slightly dreamy as his thoughts turned to Remus.

"After everything is over, we'll have to do this again. With Remus and Lily and Peter," James announced, excitement bubbling back up in his chest.

He wanted to share everything with Lily—show her the other side of his culture with all its colours and spices and the warmth and the love they had seen in only the past few days.

"We will. With a non-broken bike, and another travel plan."

James' grin felt like it was going to split his face in half. Dark times were approaching, but his thoughts of the future were warm and golden. The truck growled, bumping over the path as the familiar roar of a crowd began to emerge over the engine. Their journey was coming to an end but it had been one hell of a ride.


End file.
